


A Break in the Road

by orphan_account



Series: The Walking Dead 'verse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, TWDcrossover, Weird, fluffy? maybe?, sansan, very weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark and her travelling companion, Sandor Clegane, come across Rick Grime’s group at a prison during the apocalypse, and decide whether or not they’ll stay. Walking Dead-verse. Oneshot. SanSan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Break in the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I just watched the finale of TWD season four, and GOT just came back on, and I was inspired. It's weird, it's finished, and it - like my other oneshot - has kept me from doing my studying. Looks like I'm failing my mythology exam tomorrow. Hopefully it was worth it (probably not, but it's SanSan! How could I not post it???).
> 
> This is set between season three finale of TWD and the premiere of season four. You don't really have to have watched TWD if you're just desperate for SanSan, but you won't understand certain plot references. Oh yeah, spoiler alert for TWD.
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy. I'm writing a multi-chapter SanSan story which I'm really fucking stoked to post, so stay tuned. It'll feature scarred!Sansa AND scarred!Sandor. Fuck yeah for clichés! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Surprise!

“How long you two been on the road?” a young and pretty southern lady asked Sansa. Her hair was cut just above her shoulders, and she didn’t have a lick of make-up or anything frivolous on her, but it did nothing to diminish from her beauty. Beside her, a handsome Korean man stood with the gun hanging limply but securely in his hands.

As always, the questions were directed at Sansa. She couldn’t blame them for not wanting to talk to her companion. Hell, half the time _she_ didn’t want to talk to her companion.

“Three weeks?” Sansa guessed, biting her lip for half a moment before releasing it. The acrid taste of blood still stung in her mouth from when the lady – the same one talking to her – had struck her fist against Sansa’s jaw. It would bruise, but it wasn’t really a good hit. If the woman had survived this long, it was because she was a good shot with a gun, not because her hand to hand combat skills were excellent.

Or she could have been like Sansa, and got by on sheer dumb luck.

“You must be tired,” she smiled gently at her. Strange how quickly her face had shifted from utterly terrified when she first ran into Sansa and her companion, to the relaxed and warm smile she gave her now. (To the man behind Sansa, she still shot irritated glares, but they were infrequent and not much of a concern to Sansa).

Sansa nodded in strong agreement at her words. “Exhausted. I’m a terrible look-out. Sandor—”

Sandor, the man who was scowling and muttering curses at all of them, hissed and cut her off. “That’s enough, little bird. Either offer us fucking shelter for the night, or let us go.”

An elderly man who had but one full leg was quick to soothe any bruised egos with a few well-timed and particular words. “You’re welcome to stay in the cells overnight, of course. We have plenty extra, enough for you to each have one.”

“No,” Sandor said firmly, and Sansa glanced over her shoulder at him to catch him shift the butt of his gun a bit in a threatening way. “One room. The girl stays with me at all times.”

They all looked scandalized. Sansa fought a frown, but Sandor didn’t seem too insulted. No matter how many people they came across, every single one had the same reaction when they found out Sandor and Sansa were _intimate_ together (Sandor would never use such a dignified word, but Sansa refused to call their _moments_ what he did).

“One cell, then,” the white-haired man agreed easily, though he, too, looked affronted at the suggestion. Sansa wanted to snort in disbelief and blush in shame simultaneously; it wasn’t so long ago that she would have made the same face to sharing a bed with another man while unwed, let alone sharing a bed with Sandor Clegane. But times were so different now than they were mere months ago, and she couldn’t afford luxuries like shame and dignity any more.

“Right, well Glenn will show you to your cell block. There’s a shower to bathe in and venison for dinner. Daryl’s hunt was fruitful. We’ll be happy to share.”

Sansa was about to thank him when Sandor cut her off again.

“And what if we want to leave?” he growled, sizing up each member of the group with unease. He especially seemed dubious of the wiry man with an equally sour expression on his face. The old man had called him Daryl, and Daryl had a crossbow in hand and was visibly prepared to shoot either of them at the drop of a hat.

The pretty lady and the man she appeared to be _with,_ if the frequent looks shared between them were any indication, locked eyes for half a second and winced a bit. Sansa’s heart froze and Sandor snarled lowly.

“I’m afraid this ‘s all been a misunderstanding,” the man said with a gentle quality to his tone that spoke volumes to his good heart, but did little to put Sansa at ease. “But we do have to speak to our leader before we let you go.”

“Why?” Sansa whispered, feeling betrayed for some stupid reason. She convinced herself every time – even now – that any human with a kind face had a kind heart. Could she have been wrong yet again?

But the lady was quick to speak up, frowning sympathetically at them. “We don’t wanna hurt anyone. Or keep you prisoner. But you know where we are. Makes it easy for you to sneak up on us now.”

Sandor didn’t look surprised but rather rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion. Shoulders slumped, Sansa didn’t feel any reassured by her words. “Why would we do that?”

Not half a second after she asked, Sandor grumbled, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

Judging from the pinched expression on the group’s collective faces, Sandor had hit it on the nail.

“We just need to talk to him,” the woman promised. Sansa pressed herself into Sandor’s side, who laid a flat palm on her lower back and let it rest there, unmoving. His eyes shot daggers at Daryl all the while.

“And if he doesn’t like us?” Sansa asked, worrying her lip yet again. “What happens next?”

“It will all be alright,” the one-legged man reassured with a serene smile and nod. “We’re good people.”

Sandor snorted. “No such thing.”

The Korean man gave an equal sound of derision. “Maybe not when it comes to you...” Which caused Sansa to reach out and clutch at Sandor’s belt, gripping him both fearfully and protectively, as though she were claiming him for herself.

“Glenn!” The older man looked unhappy with him, almost like a parent. “They’re our guests for the time being, and they’ll be treated with respect.”

“We’re your fucking prisoners, old man,” Sandor snapped. “Now lead us to those damn cells you’re bitching about. I gotta piss in the worst way.”

* * *

 

“So Maggie found you two?”

Their leader was exactly what Sansa had expected him to be, though she couldn’t have described him before meeting him. After she saw him, it just made sense that he was leading a group of people. He was hardened, strong and strangely resilient. She had the distinct impression that peace and chaos warred constantly inside of him, and wondered what he’d gone through to make him thusly.

Sandor, of course, hated him on sight.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Sansa nodded awkwardly. A more accurate description would’ve been that Maggie – the pretty lady who had punched Sansa – had run _smack into_ Sandor’s chest when she’d been fleeing a group of walkers and then turned to leave, only to come face to face with Sansa. In a split second, she’d made her decision, and balled her fist and thrust it against Sansa’s jaw in more of a hard shove than a right hook. Sandor had tackled her instantly, only to then have to release her to fight the walkers who had caught up to them. In the middle of the fight, Maggie had slipped away back to her people, and had circled and captured the pair.

“I’m sorry for the mix up,” the man who had greying hair and a strong jaw sounded both sincere and unconcerned at the same time. She wasn’t sure what to make of his tone. “We had a run-in recently with a group of people. One man in particular....” his jaw strained suddenly, anger lined every inch of his face. The boy who’d been standing in his father’s shadow looked at the floor with eyes as hard as his father’s. Sansa couldn’t stomach looking at the kid for longer than two seconds at a time; he was the age Bran would’ve been, could’ve been... She shook her head to clear her mind. Sandor needed her alert, not sentimental.

“We’ve been suspicious, I’m sure you understand.”

Sansa nodded, because she _did_ understand that much.

“So?” Sandor snapped. They’d stripped him of his weapons with a few pointed threats against Sansa, and he hadn’t taken kindly to it. “You want us to prove we’re not with some psycho you fought? How the fuck do you suggest we do that?”

“I just want you to answer a few questions,” the leader replied, casting a doubtful glare at Sandor. “Ladies first, I guess.”

“I don’t think so,” Sandor hissed, and grabbed Sansa to pull her away from them. Sansa didn’t look away from the group of people in the room, but patted his chest comfortingly.

“It’s ok,” she said timidly, but decisively. “I don’t mind. Ask me what you need to.”

His eyes on her went soft suddenly in a way that made Sandor uneasy, even though it wasn’t a lustful gaze, or even appreciative. There weren’t many men who’d looked at the little bird and been able to look away, but this guy had. Sandor didn’t know what to make of it, other than guess the guy was gay.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

Sansa blinked at the question, eyebrows raised, then furrowed deeply in concentration. The number would be unreasonably low; Sandor did most of the killing for them. “Um...Twenty two?” she turned her head up to meet Sandor’s gaze, but he wasn’t facing her. She let her eyes fall back to meet the leader’s. “Twenty two, I think, sir.”

The respectful title sat well with the man, but it made Sandor sneer a little.

“And you?” he asked Sandor, the dark frown returning to his face with vigor.

Sandor shrugged. “Dunno. Lost count.”

The answer didn’t seem to bother anyone too much, and Sansa figured they passed the test.

“How many people have you killed?”

At once, it was like the air had vanished from the room. Sansa couldn’t breathe, and Sandor had gone still behind her. The bars in front of them were more restricting than ever, and she’d never felt so trapped before.

Swallowing a bit to wet her throat, Sansa tried to answer with grace. “One.”

The leader didn’t bat an eye at her answer, but pressed on. “Why?”

Oh God, the room was stifling. Sansa began to shake, and she could feel Sandor’s eyes bearing down on her but it didn’t help any. Her teeth chattered and her heart felt like it was either going to explode or stop working altogether if she didn’t answer fast enough – “B-because h-he...h-he wanted to...to...” Sansa’s mouth was so dry. _There was no air! She couldn’t breathe! Help, help!_

“He wanted to rape her, but she killed him before I got the chance,” Sandor snapped. When Sansa saw his face, it was angrier than she’d seen him in a long time. _Oh dear._ She wondered if he would still let her sleep between his legs tonight; she always felt safest tucked between his large thighs, but whenever mention of _the incident_ came up, he was surly and short-tempered, and often refused the exchange of comfort or even words between him and Sansa.

A few people looked away from Sansa like they couldn’t bear to meet her face, while Maggie’s eyes filled up with tears and Glenn gripped her hand tightly in his for reassurance. Sansa met the woman’s gaze and felt, for one second, more connected to that stranger than she had ever felt to anyone in her whole life.

The leader blew out a gust of air between his lips but said nothing either reassuring or condemning.

“And you?” he asked Sandor once more. A dark smile flitted over Sandor’s face, warping his scars even worse than usual. The women (and some of the men) didn’t seem capable of looking at his face when he did it. The leader didn’t even blink.

“Dunno. _Lost count.”_ His mocking tone sent a shiver through the room, and even Sansa couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

The leader’s face had gone hard, but this time with dark mistrust. Sansa wished desperately in that moment that even though Sandor wasn’t a liar, that he’d not answered _quite_ so truthfully that once.

“Why?” asked the man.

Sandor sighed loudly, in a cruel way. “What does it fucking matter? You won’t believe whatever piss-poor reasons I give you.”

“Rick,” Daryl ground out, almost unwilling to step in but unable to keep quiet any longer. “This shit-head here... I don’t trust ‘im.”

The leader – Rick, Sansa made a note of reminding herself – propped his hands on his hips and stood in silent deliberation for a long time. Sansa could’ve hit Sandor in that moment, she was so angry. _Just once,_ she thought to herself with a scowl. _Just once I’d like him not to be so hateful!_ Of course, it wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. _Unless they decide to shoot us both,_ Sansa reasoned, and wished she hadn’t.

“Please!” Sansa found herself begging. “Please – he’s all that’s kept me alive since...since it started. Just let us go. We don’t want the prison, I swear it.”

“Shut _up,_ Sansa,” Sandor muttered irritably grabbing her upper arm and dragging her to the far corner of the cell, forcing her to sit on the bed.

Whenever Sandor touched Sansa, Rick’s hand hovered over his gun and Daryl and Glenn did the same, as though they were waiting for him to strike her, as though they were waiting for the moment to save her life from him. Sandor sneered when they did it, and made a show of rolling his eyes in disgust.

“Alright,” Rick said slowly, in his best commanding voice. “This is what we’re gonna do: starting tomorrow you two’ll be in on a trial stay. We all gotta do our fair share maintaining the place. If you prove yourselves to be helpful, then you can stay.” He shot Sandor a warning glare, and both Sansa and he knew what was really being said. _If the big guy does a load of muscle-work, you two can stay._

“And if we want to leave?” Sandor asked darkly.

The old man – Hershel, he’d called himself – piped up from the background. “You’re not our prisoners. You’re welcome to leave at any time you wish.”

Rick paused, studied them for half a beat and nodded. “Hershel’s right. But I’d advise sticking around for the night. Place is crawling with walkers by dawn, until a few of us do patrol. They pile up at the fences.”

“We’ll stay the night. Then we’ll see about these fucking fences.” Sandor certainly sounded like he had finished talking with them, but he made no move to turn his back on them. Instead he kept his stance in front of Sansa, arms folded, feet shoulder-width apart. “And I want my gun back,” he added with a snarl. Sansa couldn’t blame him; she wanted him to have his gun back, too.

“We’ll see about it at dawn,” Rick muttered, shooting Daryl – who seemed to be his right-hand – a contemplative look. Daryl just shrugged. “Get some rest. Glenn and Tyreese will accompany Sandor, and Maggie can go with Sansa to the showers—”

“No.” Sandor shook his head adamantly. “Fucking told you: the girl stays with me.”

Rick bristled, and a short haired woman in the background who had said nothing the whole exchange frowned deeply.

“We’re not going to hurt her,” she spoke up, a strange mix of kind and insulted. “We just don’t want you—”

“I don’t give a fuck who sees her naked, or me,” Sandor cut her off. “But I’m not leaving her. We don’t need to shower if you all give such a fuck about it. Just let us sleep.” Sansa made a sound that clearly indicated she disagreed with him, but otherwise said nothing.

“Alright,” Rick agreed easily. He didn’t sound overly concerned by their poor hygiene. “We’ll get you in the morning.”

They all filed out of the room, but Sansa knew deep down that someone was standing guard outside the door to the cell block. Sandor let out a loud sigh and slumped his shoulders, relaxing at last.

“Nice place,” he grumped, and Sansa spared him a tiny grin. “Any room on that fucking thing, little bird?” asked Sandor with a nod to the cot. Sansa stood up and let him lay down first, then climbed atop him. He did exactly what she’d hoped he would, sprawling his body out and allowing her to fold herself against his torso, hips tucked safely between his legs. His manhood pressed firmly into her belly, but he didn’t make a move to touch her other than stroke her spine. It relaxed him long enough to let them both fall into a light sleep.

* * *

 

A week passed, and Sansa came to like the people of the prison. Of them, she’d befriended a girl her age named Beth, who was sweet and pious and gentle. They could have been twins, were it not for the fact that Sansa shared her bed with a scarred beast like Sandor, and Beth still liked to sing.

Sansa had long since forgotten how.

_(Except for when Sandor showed her)._

True to his word, Sandor had insisted they check out the security of the fences the next morning, and had taken Sansa with him wherever they went. Rick had returned his gun to him after two days, with a dark look on both his and Daryl’s faces that promised retribution should they try anything. Sansa wasn’t concerned; she had no intention of killing anyone, let alone an old man who was kinder than anyone she’d met in close to a year, a baby who liked to laugh, or Maggie-and-Glenn, who snuck kisses and cuddles when they thought no one was looking.

Working the fences, Sansa enjoyed Karen and Sasha’s company, too. Sasha had a brother named Tyreese, and they were often seen bickering together in a friendly manner. Tyreese was always kind, but he turned positively joyful whenever Karen was around. It made Sansa smile, for it reminded her of her eldest brother seeing his wife for the first time.

Sandor was slowly starting to relax around the people they stayed with, but oddly enough he refused to give anyone answers as to whether they would stay or not. Sansa didn’t bother asking; it mattered not to her, so long as he took her wherever he went. He’d promised her plenty of times that he wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – leave her behind, not unless he died.

It was a week since they first got there before he spilled his thoughts to her, curled up together in the same cell they’d first been shown to.

“We can’t stay,” he told her very quietly when dawn was breaking. The sun had started to peak through the windows, but the chill was still heavy enough to keep Sansa in bed, pinioned against his chest. His fingers pulled through her hair nearly tenderly, as he nibbled occasionally on her neck.

“I thought you’d say that,” Sansa sighed but didn’t argue. “Why not?”

“It’s not practical,” he answered simply. There was no trace of doubt to be found in his voice. Rather, he sounded almost remorseful to be so right. “There’s no reliable source of food, and there’s too few people to man the fences. It’s too large for a group so small. Even if I stayed, we’d need all the people working from sun up to sunset. And it’s exhausting. I’d rather be on the road and ready to run, than to get comfy in a fucking trap and die in a cell.”

“Have you told Rick this?” Sansa asked gently, snuggling deeper into him. God, he was so warm. Even now, he was still warm. _And she always felt so cold._

Sandor told her what she had feared: that Rick was warned by Sandor about the illogicality of the prison, and refused to leave anyways. “Said he’d take it up with their fucking council. They’ll all be dead in a month, little bird. Wait and see. Actually no – neither of us are gonna wait and see.”

She wished they could stay, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed he was right. The people had blinded themselves into thinking this was a plausible answer to their prayers, when it was really just another stop on the road. Temporary shelter, like every other place they’d passed.

“So we’ll go north?” Sansa couldn’t keep the hope from clouding her voice. _North._ Home. The one place she knew would be safe, if only they could get there.

Sandor kissed her neck and toyed with her breasts a bit. Normally she liked when he paid such attention to her, but right now she really just wanted him to listen and _focus_.

“Sandor?”

He stopped, sensing her impatience and huffed. “Yes, little bird. North, we’ll go.”

“Could we...” she paused, thinking about Beth and the baby and sweet little Mika and Maggie-and-Glenn, and even Daryl who unsettled her mostly. She couldn’t just abandon them. “Could we bring them with...? Or offer to?”

“They’ll never come,” Sandor replied with a frown. He reluctantly pulled himself out of their makeshift bed and stretched. “Best ready yourself, little bird. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

* * *

 

They all looked so shocked when Sansa told them they were leaving. Of course, they must have known it was Sandor’s decision, but no one objected, to her relief. Sandor had forced her to be ready to make a run for it just in case, but Rick had simply offered them his best wishes and some supplies they could carry.

“Avoid any man who calls himself the governor,” Rick said with a heavy tone. It wasn’t a suggestion, and Sandor agreed to it easily enough. “He has an eye-patch because he’s missing one of ‘em.”

Sansa didn’t ask how or why he knew that, because she had no desire to learn.

“Find a car,” he added somberly. Sandor, to her surprise, didn’t sneer at him for trying to give advice, but didn’t thank him for it much, either.

“It’ll just trap us in if it dies while we’re surrounded,” Sandor refuted flatly. “Best we stay just off the road and follow the highway ‘til we reach shelter.” He was silent for half a second, and then grudgingly spoke, “Rotate the people you get on fence duty. You’ll end up with a bunch of psychos otherwise.”

“This life does something to _all_ of us—”

“Standing there and stabbing a bunch of people – even the dead ones – is a fucking taxing job.” Sandor didn’t have to tell them that he spoke from experience. From _before_ the apocalypse, that is. “You need to give them more breaks in the day or they’ll kill themselves for it.”

Rick frowned but thanked him for the words of wisdom, and Sandor had nodded tersely before beckoning to Sansa. She had been standing off to the side and bouncing the baby, Judith, in her arms. A lovesick smile adorned her face as she cooed at the pretty little thing. It had been so long since she’d held a baby...

“No.”

Sansa looked up to see Sandor glaring at her, a dark look of warning on his face. Sansa actually pouted a little, instantly aware of what he was telling her.

“Sandor,” she drew out the end of his name into a whine, one that went unanswered.

“I don’t fucking have the God-given talent of protecting a screaming infant whilst stabbing walkers, girl. We’ll get you a pet rock when we get farther north.” She had scowled at him but handed Judith over at last. Beth giggled a bit at her face, sympathy stretching her features as she took Judith back into her arms. They were two women who understood the longing for a baby, it seemed.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Beth suggested, kissing Sansa’s cheek quickly. Maggie was standing next to her sister, holding hands with Glenn. Michonne and Carl were patrolling the fences today, and Carol was doing story time with the kids (which Sandor believed was actually a masquerade for a lesson in weaponry, but Sansa wouldn’t judge the Carol for doing it, even if it were true). Hershel had said farewell in the prison, and the rest didn’t seem worried to be losing the scary man who cursed too much and his bed partner.

“Take care,” Sansa whispered urgently into her new friend’s ear. She hugged Maggie, too, before walking to Sandor’s side. He didn’t offer her his hand, but he did cup the back of her head in a touching way. _Perhaps it’s for the best,_ Sansa thought to herself, in regards to leaving the prison. No one had warmed up to the idea of a man fifteen years her senior sharing her bed, and Sansa didn’t have the patience to wait for acceptance. It was the apocalypse. Now was not the time to be picky.

Besides, Sandor was the best guy she’d met.

_Best at surviving zombie-apocalypses, too, coincidentally._

“Got everything?” Sandor asked her with his mouth close to her ear. She shivered, wishing he’d take her just once more before they got on the road, and nodded.

They waved at the group of people amassed at the gate of the prison, before slinking off between walkers. It would be easier when they reached the road, Sansa reminded herself, as Sandor cleared a path for them. And all the while, as he stabbed, kicked and sliced their way through, Sansa couldn’t help thinking about the nice faces who they were leaving behind – Hershel and Beth and Tyreese and Karen and Sasha and even Rick – and wondering if she really would ever see them again...

...knowing in her heart that she would not.

* * *

_Fin_

_(for now?)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Ciao, darlings,
> 
> Miss Mallora


End file.
